


Times Change... People Stay the Same

by apolla



Series: The Lords of Storm’s End [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Queen in the North, Stark Children's Children, Stark babies, Storm's End (ASoIaF), The more things change the more they stay the same, after the war, life is complicated, peace doesn't mean happy ever after
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-03-19 22:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18979705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolla/pseuds/apolla
Summary: Almost twenty years have passed since the Long Night and the Last War.With peace - more or less - in Westeros, a new generation has grown up without the ever-present fear of pain, horror and certain death.The young don't know what it is to live through long winters of war, but the older generations don't know how to forget.





	1. Chapter 1

Storm’s End was busy at the best of times, but especially so the morning the Queen in the North was due to arrive with her royal progress. There was much to be done to clear the yards and ready enough rooms for the Queen and her people.

 

And they had to do it all during the tail end of one of the more severe storms of the season so far. The yard was wet and muddy, and it was all Jenny the housekeeper could to to stop the hordes of busy folk from tramping it all inside the currently-clean drum tower.

 

By the time the Queen’s caravan was spotted less than an hour away, Storm’s End shone and sparkled in the sun that had finally emerged from behind thick grey clouds.

 

The Lord of Storm’s End was not one for unnecessary fuss, but even he was wearing his finest as he paced up and down the length of the feast hall. The door opened, and he turned with great hope, but it was only Ser Davos Seaworth, and he resumed his pacing.

 

‘Anyone found her yet?’

 

‘Gendry lad, calm down-’

 

‘Where _is_  she?’

 

‘We’re not sure.’ Davos winced pre-emptively. ‘She was seen riding out at daybreak.’

 

‘And the stable lads didn’t think to stop her?’

 

‘What authority do they have over her?’

 

Lord Gendry took a breath. ‘Today, of all days, Davos!’

 

A new voice joined the conversation: ‘I’d wager that’s why.’

 

Gendry and Davos both turned as Lady Arya Stark, resplendent in black leather tunic, breeches and boots, marched into the room. Her braided hair swung as she moved, and her silver earrings jingled like soft bells.

 

‘Do you know where she went?’ Gendry demanded, fists clenched, as he started pacing again.

 

‘No. And if I did, I wouldn’t tell _you_ until you pulled your head out of your arse.’

 

‘It’s the _Queen in the North_!’

 

Arya shrugged. ‘It’s just Sansa.’

 

‘She may be just Sansa to you, but this is important.’

 

‘She thinks you want to marry her off.’

 

‘ _Sansa_?’

 

‘Elenei.’

 

‘Ah.’

 

Arya’s eyes narrowed and her face sank into its fiercest scowl. ‘If she’s right, I will gut you while you fucking sleep and decorate this entire castle with your entrails.’

 

‘She isn’t right! I didn’t think she’d see it that way. I wouldn’t- I _promised_  I would never do that and I meant it. Fetch her home so she can greet the Queen. Or at least do her _aunt_  the courtesy.’

 

‘Sansa won’t mind. Or at least, she’s used to it. Did I ever tell you what I did the day your father arrived at Winterfell?’

 

Gendry cracked a slight smile. ‘Many times.’ He gave up pacing to slump against a table. Arya took this as a cue to approach, and Davos took _that_  as a cue to leave, the door slamming behind him.

 

‘It’s not _Elenei_ bothering you, is it?’ Arya reached out and pushed his curly black hair out of his face.

 

Gendry leaned into her hand and closed his eyes. ‘I worry about her.’

 

‘You always worry about her. This is something else. Are you nervous?’

 

His eyes flew open. ‘Why would I be nervous?’

 

‘In all these years, you’ve never hosted such a large or important party as my sister and her entire bloody court. You’re not worried about Elenei; you’re worried you’ll do something wrong.’

 

‘That’s not… _entirely_  true.’

 

‘It’s like you say, you can take the bastard out of Flea Bottom, but you can’t take the stink out of his nostrils.’

 

‘I said that?’

 

‘Many times.’

 

‘Must be cleverer than I think.’

 

‘I know you are.’ Arya bounced up to sit on the table beside him, legs swinging. ‘How long have you been Lord of Storm’s End now?’

 

‘Nineteen very long years.’

 

‘I think you’ve got the hang of it and have no cause for concern, then.’

 

‘It’s one thing to persuade these bloody Stormlords. They’ll accept anyone who looks like me and swings a hammer hard enough… but Queen Sansa is something else.’

 

‘I don’t think there’s much you could do to fuck this up.’

 

‘You saw the letter she sent when you came here instead of Winterfell. Might as well have been carved on a block of ice.’

 

‘That was years ago!’

 

‘We don’t care much for courtesies here, but I know she does. We’re not… refined like they are.’

 

‘Refined like _Northerners_? Have you gone mad? Those rough bastards don’t care about courtesies! They care about getting _warm_. Anyway, I don’t think she’ll care about any of that.’

 

‘No?’

 

‘Not much, anyway.’

 

‘Well, Elenei isn’t here!’

 

‘She will be.’ Arya reached out to grasp his fingers in her own. ‘Not nearly as wild as her mother, that one.’

 

‘Oh, I think you’re underestimating her ability to be a pain in my arse.’

 

‘Elenei will _never_  be as bad as me. She’s half-you, after all.’ She nudged his shoulder. ‘It’s been a long time since I saw you so… unsure. I’d forgotten. I’m sorry.’

 

Gendry rubbed at his beard. ‘I’d almost forgotten. I almost thought this was… really mine.’

 

‘It is yours. Storm’s End belongs to you because you made yourself worthy of it and the people.’

 

‘It belongs to me because a dead queen-’

 

‘She made a pronouncement. You made it stick. You think these bloody Storm Lords would tolerate anyone unworthy? I do believe this visit has opened some old wounds...’

 

‘Not just in me, methinks.’

 

‘Oh?’

 

‘I haven’t seen you wear jewellery like this for a long time.’ He reached up and flicked at one of the tinkling earrings.

 

Arya actually blushed. ‘Just want to make a good impression on the Queen.’

 

‘They suit you.’

 

‘You made them.’

 

‘A long time ago.’

 

‘Yes, a long time ago. For a half-forgotten girl.’

 

‘I haven’t forgotten her. I see her every day.’

 

Arya blushed again. ‘Don’t be daft, bull.’

 

‘It’s not daft if it’s the truth.’ He stood up and lifted her as though she weighed nothing. ‘After this visit…’

 

‘Yes?’

 

‘I think we should escape for a while.’

 

‘Where to?’

 

‘Wherever you like. Rainwood. Summerhall. Further.’

 

‘And Elenei?’

 

‘Might do her good to stay and look after this old place with Davos.’

 

A knock on the door prevented Arya from responding. Davos, as if summoned by mention of his name, poked his head around the door.

 

‘She’s here.’

 

Gendry scowled. ‘Elenei or the Queen?’

 

‘Which answer would you prefer?’

 

‘The former!’

 

Davos grinned and let the door open wider. There stood Elenei Baratheon. She looked as sweaty and muddy as anyone who’d been riding hard for hours in the rain. Her unruly black hair was almost broken free of the braid she’d shoved it into, and her leather riding clothes were spattered with mud and dirt. Her blue eyes sparkled, though, with joy and a little mischief.

 

‘So, first of all,’ she said, stomping into the hall. She was as tall and strong as any Baratheon had a right to be, but her gait owed more to Arya Stark. ‘I didn’t _mean_  to be gone so long. But there’s a good reason this time. In truth, a good reason.’

 

Despite the scowl he kept on his face, Gendry did not have it in him to be truly angry about this. ‘I should think there must be.’

 

‘I was riding - I only meant to be gone a while! - and as I was on my way, there was a family on the road whose cart had lost a wheel. Truly.’

 

‘And you stopped to help?’ he guessed.

 

She nodded fiercely, hair falling yet more from its binding. ‘There was a father and a mother and three small children. The father couldn’t fix it on his own, and the wife wasn’t able to help much.’

 

‘What did you do?’ Arya asked, more from curiosity than evidence-gathering for a scolding.

 

‘I lifted the cart while he attached the wheel.’

 

‘You held up a cart?’ Gendry felt a smile tug at his mouth. He tried, without success, to suppress it.

 

Elenei grinned, knowing she had him. ‘It wasn’t ever so big.’

 

‘Where were they going?’

 

‘Who?’

 

‘The family?’

 

‘Oh, yes. They’re coming here. Looking for work.’

 

'You left them?’

 

‘I knew I had to get back here. Now, if you don’t mind,’ Elenei flicked her hair out of her eyes. ‘I don’t have long to make myself presentable.’

 

The Lord and Lady both laughed at that, which Elenei took as permission to leave.

 

‘See?’ Arya said, ‘Nothing to worry about.’

 

‘Nothing to worry about? Seven hells, I wish your father was here to ask how he dealt with you!’

 

Arya froze and had to take a moment before she could speak. ’He was long dead by the time I was her age.’

 

‘Arry, I didn’t mean-’ He wrapped his arms around her and would not let go until he felt her physically return to herself.

 

‘She’s not much younger than I was when I stuck the Night King with the pointy end.’

 

‘Things were different then. We were all forced to grow up quickly. She hasn’t had to do that.’

 

‘Thank any listening gods for that. We do our best for her and one day when she’s the Lady of Storm’s End… she’ll decide for herself. We _deal_  with her by not fucking dealing with her.’

 

‘It was a poor choice of words.’

 

‘Still not your worst.’

 

He winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Woman, will you _ever_  let me forget that?’

 

‘Not as long as I have breath in my body, milord.’

 

Fortunately, Gendry had known her for a very long time and had ways of taking her breath away, so he did, until they were both gasping for breath, red-faced and wishing they could run off to the Rainwood immediately.

 

Outside, the horns sounded to herald the Queen’s arrival, because the one thing Gendry Baratheon never seemed to grasp was good timing.

 

*

 

The skies were grey but clear as he people of Storm’s End lined up to greet the Queen in the North and her retinue. As was usual, the Lord and Lady stood on the steps with Davos and other senior members of the household close by as the first of Queen Sansa’s guards rode in on their great Northern horses.

 

Arya would be a liar if she claimed the sight of Stark direwolves on their fluttering white banners did not make her gasp with great joy.

 

A young man with wild Tully red hair rode at the head of the van, smiling broadly at her. He had barely eighteen name days on him, but he was tall and proud atop his horse.

 

Arya wanted to cry out, wondering if this lad - her nephew - was a glimpse of what her brother Rickon might have been had he lived. Beside her, Gendry held her hand and squeezed gently.

 

The lad had barely dismounted when the Queen herself rode in, her cloak swirling around her as she allowed him to help her down.

 

There were others of course, but Arya only saw her family - her pack. Sansa was still tall and proud, her hair still radiant red and if her usual expression was hard and stern, it cracked when she smiled at her sister.

 

Arya forgot propriety completely as she released Gendry’s hand and bounded down the steps and launched herself at Sansa. The Queen, for her part, was ready for this and hugged her sister with all the warmth and love that comes from a very long parting between sisters.

 

In the time it took them to disentangle themselves, Gendry had come down the steps.

 

‘Welcome to Storm’s End, Your Grace.’

 

‘Thank you. It’s nice to see you again, Gendry.’

 

His smile faltered but did not fail. There was no mistaking the way she left out his title, nor the ambiguous nature of the word “nice”. Still, he bowed and kissed the offered hand.

 

‘This,’ said Sansa, ‘is my son Rickard. I may have mentioned him in my letters from time to time.’

 

‘Rickard!’ Arya embraced him too. ‘I am so happy to see you in person at long last!’

 

‘Aunt Arya, I am pleased to meet you.’ His voice was deep for a boy his age but still not quite mature.

 

‘And what of the Stark in Winterfell?’ she asked.

 

Sansa’s pleasant smile warmed to something more sincere. ‘Alys is well.’

 

‘We tossed a coin,’ Rickard boasted. ‘I won!’

 

Sansa rolled her eyes. ‘You won a coin toss that had no bearing on my decision.’

 

He winked at his mother. ‘So you say!’

 

Arya liked her nephew. He reminded her of Robb and Rickon, which did not hurt as she might have feared. Given enough time, she thought, even sharp griefs fade.

 

She grew lost to her thoughts as Sansa formally introduced Rickard to Gendry and the party then began its formal introduction and greeting with Davos and the rest of the household. She was barely even paying attention by the time Gendry led Sansa up the steps and into the Great Hall where they shared bread, salt, and a bottle of decent Dornish wine.

 

‘We’ll let you get settled in,’ Gendry told Sansa. ‘And arrangements have been made for all your people.’

 

A set of heavy footsteps did gain Arya’s attention, along with everyone else’s.

 

Elenei ran down the steps from the family quarters and into the hall. She was clean now, wearing a gold and black dress with her hair loose but combed. The girl and her maid had done their best with the time they had to prepare, and hopefully nobody would notice her grazed hands and still-damp hair.

 

All in all, though, Arya thought her daughter was everything lovely. She was tall and proud and strong; her dress was well-made and suited her, and her face carried with her the beauty of her namesake.

 

‘I’m sorry!’ she said, breath shallow. She must have run without pause from the top of the drum tower. ‘That I’m late. I’m sorry.’

 

She dipped into a curtsey for the Queen.

 

‘Elenei, my dear!’ Sansa put down her glass to grasp her niece’s hands in her own. ‘I am so pleased to see you.’

 

‘I’m late, I’m so sorry, Your Grace!’

 

‘You need not apologise to me, sweetling. You are your mother’s daughter, after all.’

 

‘And my father’s daughter.’

 

Sansa laughed at that. Her laugh now was rich, throaty and a million miles from the high-pitched, shallow squeal Arya remembered from days long gone. ‘That much is obvious.’

 

‘Yeah,’ said Rickard. ‘You look like a man in a dress.’

 

Silence dropped around them.

 

Sansa looked ready to kill; Gendry’s bloodless fists clenched. Arya’s first instinct, she was truly shocked to realise, was not to strike at the insulting party, but to reach for Elenei. The blood drained from her daughter’s face and, for a moment, she looked ready to burst into tears.

 

Quick as a flash, though, she was recovered. She squared her strong shoulders, looked her cousin in the eye so ferociously that the impolite wolf looked down at his boots. Then, with only a nod to Sansa, Elenei turned and walked out of the hall like she was the one wearing a crown.

 

 

*


	2. Close Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Mr Sansa and Arya shares some truths with a girl who has overheard more conversations than is good for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the fab comments so far - I always welcome them, even if it's something constructive :)
> 
> Still not totally sure how happy I am with this whole thing but let us see where it leads us...

The moments immediately following Elenei’s abrupt departure from the hall were quiet, the only meaningful sound coming from the Baratheon banner at the back of the room fluttering in the breeze. The moments following _those_ were not and the fluttering was drowned out.

 

‘Rickard! I can hardly account for such an ungallant remark!’

 

‘If you weren’t a boy and my nephew, I’d challenge you right now.’

 

‘Fuck challenging him, I might just run the little fucker through.’

 

‘Everyone, stay calm.’

 

‘What were you ever thinking?’

 

‘Arya, you cannot kill your own nephew!’

 

‘Says who?’

 

‘The old gods, the new ones! I think only the Drowned God doesn’t take offence.’

 

‘I’m going to see if she’s all right.’

 

It hardly mattered who said what or to whom. Eventually, Davos took a sort of charge by insisting he would show the Queen and her son to their rooms.

 

Arya and Gendry were left alone a moment.

 

‘Which of us is going to teach that little bastard a lesson?’ She asked.

 

‘We can both have a go. Looks like he needs it.’

 

Gendry ran a hand over his beard, back and forth. ’How’d that come from _Sansa_? And bloody Podrick?’

 

‘He’s the heir to the northern throne and probably used to getting away with whatever he likes.’ She reached out to take his hand away from his face. ‘Shave the bloody thing off if it’s annoying.’

 

‘You said _you_ liked it.’

 

She leaned into him and sighed deeply. ‘You think she’s all right?’

 

‘Would you be?’

 

Her answer was instant, pulled from the depths of her soul where it had been kept since she was very young. ’No.’

 

‘Then I don’t think so, no.’

 

‘I really can kill him and make it look like an accident.’

 

‘I know, love. But you’re not going to kill your idiot nephew for being an idiot. At least not before he has a chance to make amends.’

 

‘She’ll kick his arse.’

 

‘Gods, I hope so. We’ll sell tickets.’

 

A knock on the door interrupted them.

 

‘Yes?’ Gendry called out, his best lordly voice in place. Arya moved away from him and if either felt the loss of contact, they did their best to ignore it.

 

The door squeaked open slowly and Ser Podrick Stark put his head around it. ‘Sansa told me what happened.’

 

He was much the same as they remembered him, but a little older. He moved with the confidence of a man of experience and power but his eyes darted around his new surroundings with the unconscious worry of a green boy.

 

‘Come in, Pod.’ Gendry tugged on his doublet. ‘Is all well?’

 

‘My apologies for not being with the Queen for her arrival.’

 

Gendry and Arya shared a look.

 

‘You can call her Sansa,’ Arya teased. ‘What with her being your wife.’

 

Podrick blinked. ‘I rather think it’s that I’m _her_ husband.’

 

Arya grinned. ‘Just so.’

 

‘Sansa told me what Rickard said. On behalf of my family, I apologise-‘

 

Gendry held a hand up. ’I don’t want you to apologise to me, Pod. I want _him_ to apologise to _her_.’

 

Pod’s jaw dropped opened. ‘She said you were a right proper lord now, too. He will make amends, I swear on it.’

 

‘He will.’ Gendry embraced his old friend briefly. ‘It is good to see you looking well, Pod.’

 

‘And you, my lord. How long has it been?’

 

‘Couldn’t say. Not since… the tourney at… I want to say Highgarden, but it can’t be that long, can it?’

 

‘It can. You don’t come south of the Neck for much these days.’

 

Pod rubbed the back of his own neck then. ‘Not much to come south for, in truth. I’ve no especially good memories of it or good reason… _this_ is, I mean! That boy must have inherited his idiot tongue from me.’

 

‘You are welcome here,’ said Gendry.

 

‘What had you held up?’ Arya asked.

 

Pod’s whole posture collapsed. ‘One of our men mistreated a family we met on the road.’

 

‘Mistreated?’

 

‘He insulted the man’s wife and stole some apples.’

 

‘Insulted?’

 

‘In word only. I was obliged to hold back and deal with it.’

 

‘Did they have a broken cart, perchance?’ Arya asked.

 

‘It was rickety but moved. Why?’

 

‘Nothing important. The man?’

 

‘Took his left hand. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword, and so forth.’ Pod rubbed the back of his neck again. ‘Do you like being a Lord, Gendry?’

 

‘Fuck no.’ They all laughed without much humour. ‘But it’s the best of a set of awful options so here I am. At least I know the Lord of Storm’s End does his best for the people.’

 

‘Well,’ said Pod. ‘From what we hear up north, you do more than just your best. They’re fond of you down here.’

 

‘Aye, well…’

 

‘Pod,’ Arya interrupted. ‘You must be tired and in need of a warm bath before the feast.’

 

‘Yes, I am.’

 

‘We will see you later, then.’

 

Pod left quickly, leaving them once again alone in the hall. Arya paced a moment.

 

‘Everything for the feast is ready, I take it?’ She asked. ‘I can smell the roasting hog from here.’

 

‘Aye. More Northern ale is coming in on the ship from White Harbour, too. I thought the Northmen might prefer it.’

 

‘You don’t want them guzzling all your good Stormlands pale, you mean.’

 

Gendry shrugged, a smile playing on his lips as he did. ‘No…’

 

‘Right,’ Arya rocked on her heels. ‘I think I’ve given her enough time.’

 

‘Good luck, milady. Do you need my favour to carry with you for this joust?’

 

‘Fuck off, _milord_.’

 

*

 

The family chambers were at the very top of the drum tower. The Lord and Lady’s rooms took the entire top floor, with its breathtaking views across Shipbreaker Bay, and their daughter’s room was below. Arya paused outside Elenei’s chamber door and knocked.

 

‘Yes?’ It was hard to tell the tone of voice through the thick wooden door.

 

‘May I enter?’

 

‘Yes.’

 

Arya nudged the door open with her foot, genuinely curious to see how Elenei was.

 

Elenei was sat by the narrow windows that looked out across the water, her bare feet up on the table. Her hair was pulled roughly back with a leather string and she’d ditched her dress - left messily on her bed - in favour of sitting in her small clothes.

 

Her eyes were red and sore from weeping and the hard set of her jaw told her mother that she was trying very hard not to be seen to be crying, even by her mother.

 

‘Elenei, love-‘

 

‘Don’t fuss, Mother. I’m perfectly well.’

 

‘Yes, I’m sure you are.’ Arya perched on the edge of Elenei’s bed, trying not to crush the dress.

 

‘Takes more than one stupid boy saying stupid things to bother me.’

 

‘I know. I’m happy to duel with the little shit, unless you want to do it?’

 

‘Of course I do!’

 

‘Very well. Your father wants to sell tickets.’

 

That made Elenei smile, a tiny watery smile that was nonetheless reassuring to her mother.

 

‘Was Aunt Sansa angry with me?’

 

‘Why would she be angry with you?’

 

‘I was rude!’

 

‘You were not! I’d have been rude. You did exactly what Gendry and Davos and that bloody tutor have been teaching you to do. If it was me, he wouldn’t have any teeth left.’

 

‘I don’t want to go to the feast, Mamma.’

 

‘Then don’t go.’

 

‘I don’t want to dress up to be leered at.’

 

‘Nor do I.’

 

‘Nobody leers at you, Mother!”

 

‘Not now I’m old and decrepit.’

 

‘You aren’t-‘

 

‘They used to. After a fashion. Not when I was young, but when I was newly arrived here. I was stared at everywhere I went.’

 

‘Wasn’t that because you’re Azure Azzer?’

 

‘Azor Ahai.’

 

‘And because you were the first person to come back from west of Westeros?’

 

‘Possibly. But it wasn’t because I was beautiful. You’re beautiful, lovely girl.’

 

‘No, I’m not.’ Elenei shifted so she could no longer look Arya directly in the face. ‘I know that.’

 

‘Course you are. All that lovely black hair and those eyes and the cheekbones and…’ Arya paused. ‘I know you’re almost entirely Baratheon to look at, but sometimes I see shadows of my mother, and she was very beautiful. And you’re tall and strong-‘

 

‘I look like a man. Everyone thinks so.’

 

‘Who is _everyone_ , little lass?’

 

Elenei snorted at that. She had grown taller than her mother by her twelfth named day and yet Arya still called her _little._ ‘Everyone. They don’t usually say it to my face like Rickard does because everyone knows I’ll be the Lady of Storm’s End one day… but I hear the whispers and I hear how people laugh the moment after I pass them. I hear them compare me to Brienne of Tarth. They’re cruel about her, too. They talk about her like she’s a… a dried out husk.’

 

‘She isn’t, you aren’t and you won’t be. Unless you choose to be. Of all the girls in this festering bloody kingdoms, you are the one with the most freedom. Nobody else, not a single girl or woman, has the freedom you do. You’ll never be forced to marry. You’ll never want for a home. You can defend yourself against almost anyone. You can read and write. You are clever and hard-working and kind. You’re all of those things and you also _happen_ to be beautiful.’

 

‘You have to say all of that because you’re my mother.’

 

Arya bounced up from the bed and approached. It was never wise to spring at Elenei, so she moved more slowly than she might wish to, keeping herself as much in Elenei’s view as she could. ‘Elenei, look at me.’

 

She obeyed after a moment.

 

‘Do you think there has ever been a minute of any day in which I’ve said something I didn’t mean or didn’t want to say?’

 

‘No?’

 

‘Just so. I never learnt, just as I never learnt to saw or sing pretty songs. I would be better off if I could lie, I’m sure. But I can’t and I don’t want to. So when I tell you those things, you should hear them and believe them because Arya Stark does not lie to anyone, least of all her dearest child.’

 

‘Only, Mother. _Only child.’_

 

‘You think you would not be dear to me if there were more?’

 

‘I think sometimes that you found me so disappointing that you didn’t dare have more.’

 

Arya huffed loudly and swatted at Elenei’s shoulder. ’Gods, you are as bull-headed as that man downstairs! If I was disappointed, I’d be more likely to have more children to try and improve the odds, wouldn’t I?’

 

‘I know you never wanted to be here.’

 

Had Elenei kicked her mother off the cliffs into Shipbreaker Bay, Arya would hardly have been more shocked or felt more like a sudden immersion in icy waters. She did not reply at first, and took to ranging around the room like a caged wolf. It was one thing to have a feeling and quite another for her daughter to accuse her of it.

 

‘Now, that’s not-‘

 

‘It is true. I’ve heard you and Father talk about it.’

 

‘When? We haven’t spoken of any of that for years.’

 

‘I was younger. I heard you arguing. I heard you say that if you could have gone back to sea, you would have. And then I realised you’re trapped here as much as anything.’

 

‘I’m not trapped here.’

 

Elenei scoffed and curled up in her chair like she used to when she was a little girl and could fold her entire body onto the seat. Too big for that, she had her legs over the carved arm. ‘Course you are.’

 

‘I’m not. Nobody could trap me anywhere. I’m only ever where I choose to be. Your father knows that better than anyone.’

 

‘He waited for you.’

 

‘He did. I didn’t make him wait that long.’

 

‘Two years to get there and back.’

 

‘Two years isn’t that long once you’ve lived long enough. You’re still very young.’

 

‘It’s a long time when you think someone doesn’t love you.’

 

Arya ceased her pacing long enough to slam her hand down on the table, which rattled dangerously. ‘You do not know what you’re talking about and I think we need to speak about listening at doors.’

 

‘Do you know how loud you are?’ Elenei snarled back, as furious as her mother was icy. ‘I don’t have to eavesdrop to hear you when you and Father are raging at each other!’

 

This was both true and untrue. It was entirely possible to hear every word they yelled while arguing in their chambers, but only if one was on the crenellations at the top of the drum tower. As this was one of Elenei’s lifelong favourite places in the entire castle, it was possible she had heard arguments without ever meaning to.

 

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Arya repeated, ‘but I can assure that if I hadn’t gone then, I would’ve left a long time ago and I wouldn’t have returned.’

 

‘So, you would leave me?’

 

‘That’s not what I said. I would not have lasted long enough for that. I had to leave in order to want to come home.’

 

‘Well-‘

 

‘Yes?’

 

‘What was it like? You never talk about it.’

 

‘I saw most of the world. I saw glorious beauty and wretched ugliness in place and person. I saw things most people can’t even dream of. Giant sea creatures fit to crush a ship. Wreckage and burned ruins. Lavish cities where the women walk around in public in dresses we wouldn’t even wear to bed. Violence of a kind I thought I’d left behind me. Slavery. Poverty and drudgery. Pain. Anger. Terror. Horror. I saw Red Priests who believed the lies they told and I saw dragon-worshippers. I saw… I saw enough to know that what I cared about was here.’

 

‘Why did you stay away so long? He missed you!’ Elenei had been holding onto such questions for years and now the dam was broken, she could not hold them back.

 

‘I know he did. I also know that he needed me to be away as much as I did. He came by this place honestly, in his own right. Not because he had the Nightslayer stood next to him. And if he had seen me as I was then, he would not love me half so much.’

 

‘That’s not true-‘

 

‘You keep a man from his sleep long enough through your own nightmares and you can make anyone feel murderous. No…’ Arya slumped onto the edge of Elenei’s bed as a force of memory flushed through her head. ‘Don’t believe what others say about me. They don’t know even half of it. Some men will make much of them having seen King’s Landing burn. And they did. They watched from a distance. I was there, in the streets. I saw people die in their hundreds. I was… that’s not a sight you get out of your mind quickly. I can still… the smell… the agony… the screaming-‘

 

‘Mamma, stop!’ Elenei leapt up. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you! I just- I’m sorry-‘

 

‘I understand,’ Arya said, perhaps a little uncertainly. ‘Nobody knows what- how could I stay anywhere?’

 

‘Father would’ve helped you.’

 

‘He would’ve tried and failed and I would’ve loathed him for it. Don’t you see? As painful as leaving was, it was still better than not going. There were no better choices.’

 

They both took a chance to regain their serenity and Elenei came to sit next to her mother. Some time passed with them sitting there quietly, until the younger girl proved she was even more impatient than the elder.

 

‘So,’ Elenei began. ‘You wouldn’t leave me?’

 

‘No. Not for any longer than I ever have. Not until you’re grown and don’t need me.’

 

‘Does that mean… are you just waiting for me to become a woman? Because I flowered-‘

 

‘That means nothing. You’re grown when you say you’re grown. And when you act it. Based on this day, I think there’s some growing yet to do.’

 

‘I don’t want-‘

 

‘I’m not trapped here, lovely girl. I am here because I choose to be. Every single day, I wake up and decide whether to stay. That’s my nature. Some days, I have to ride out until I can’t breathe and my horse can’t take another step… so that I can come home. It’s my nature to be torn between two worlds. It always was, and then the wars made it worse. But I am not stuck or trapped in this one. Two years’ adventuring was what helped me realise that. I’m not trapped. I’m no less a wolf girl for being married. I’m no more a proper lady for having a daughter. I’m no less the Lady of Storm’s End for being its master-of-arms as well. I apologise if you’ve ever felt that I’m here under duress or that I don’t love you.’

 

‘I didn’t say that!’

 

‘I know… but I think you fear it.’

 

Sharp blue eyes blinked sudden tears away, then fixed on Arya. ’Yes.’

 

‘I sometimes hardly believe you exist,’ Arya said. ‘That I could have such a perfect child.’

 

‘I’m not perfect.’

 

‘I know, but you are to me. I worried I would have a daughter who would hate me for my wildness. Who would look at Sansa and wish she were her mother. Who would see me and be afraid.’

 

‘I’m not afraid of you!’

 

‘No, you aren’t!’ Arya laughed and the air itself lightened. ‘You never were. You always knew we were… pack, I suppose.’

 

‘Can stags be part of a pack?’

 

‘Baratheon stags can.’ Arya stroked Elenei’s black hair, her fingers catching a little in the tangles. ‘You see, for all that I yearn for escape and adventure, I cannot leave behind my pack. Not for long. You… I’m happy to say you don’t know what it is to be without your family. That- I wouldn’t even wish that feeling on Daenerys Targaryen, and I would’ve fed _her_ to her own dragon for what she did to King’s Landing. So you see, I always come home, no matter what.’

 

Elenei sighed then. ‘I didn’t mean to make you talk about things that make you sad.’

 

‘I know. I should have spoken of them before.’

 

‘I have to come to the feast, don’t I?’

 

‘Not if you don’t want to.’

 

‘But they’ll think… I’m a coward. And I’m not.’

 

‘Shall I send Lyselle in to help you prepare?’

 

‘Yes. Thank you.’

 

‘You are most welcome, little lass.’ Arya stood - she was still barely taller than Elenei sitting down - and kissed Elenei’s forehead. ‘I love you very much.’

 

‘I love you.’

 

Arya made her way out of the room, trying to hide the tremble in her hands, but she need hardly have bothered, for Elenei’s mind was already elsewhere.

 

*


	3. That's Not An Apology

 

Storm’s End had gained a reputation over the years for feasts that were low on scandalous behaviour but high on excellent food, drink and solidly good entertainment. It helped, it should be said, that although the Stormlands were not altogether ideal for agriculture, but there were pockets of land between the Kingswood and Storm’s End, and along the coast, that turned out to be perfect for growing barley and hops.

 

Stormlands beer was still quite a new prospect: the hops had been introduced to Westeros by Arya Stark, who acquired them on her travels west. As such, nobody else even had them - though Bronn of Highgarden offered more outlandish coin every year - and the Stormlands became known for their fine beer, masterful metalwork alongside their well-established reputation for strength and martial prowess.

 

So it was that the feast to welcome the Queen in the North was well attended and rowdy, but not raucous.

 

Gendry was obliged to give a speech, which he kept short, and the Queen in the North responded with something a little longer and more flowery, but no less sincere. The message to all was clear: The Stormlands and the North were friends indeed.

 

The Storm Lord had long since banished the notion of a single High Table. His uncles might have cared very much for titles and rank, but he did not. Instead, the feast hall was taken up by four long feasting tables and one round table at the head of the room, where the Lord, his family and guests of honour sat at the same level as everyone else and where he could speak to everyone at once.

 

It was consequently not difficult for Gendry to see immediately that Elenei, the bright shining star in his life, was unhappy. She’d arrived at the feast late enough to avoid talking to anyone before speeches and food, but not so late as to cause offence.

 

‘You look so lovely!’ Queen Sansa had said loudly at Elenei’s entrance. Gendry agreed entirely but could see Elenei’s jaw tighten almost to the point of causing pain.

 

‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ Elenei bobbed in the poorest sort of curtsey since Arya as a child and she took her seat between her mother and Uncle Pod.

 

‘I am always Aunt Sansa to you, dear niece.’

 

‘As you wish, Aunt Sansa. Your dress is very beautiful.’

 

It was. The Queen’s dress was not new but the silver and blood-red weirwood leaf gown was one of her grandest and favourite. ‘Thank you. I thought your mother might appreciate a reminder of home. Her old home, I mean.’

 

Arya stabbed a piece of braised steak with her knife. ‘It’s very nice.’

 

‘I have invited your mother home to Winterfell many times over the years,’ said Sansa. ‘But she always has reasons not to come.’

 

‘I don’t have reasons,’ Arya said pleasantly enough. ‘I have _a reason_ and that’s that I’m never going back there ever again.’

 

Sansa reached out across the table to touch her sister’s hand a moment. ‘Of course.’

 

‘You don’t believe me.’

 

‘No, honestly. Nobody loved the North more than you.’

 

‘I can love the North and never return to it. Now, Rickard.’

 

‘Yes, Aunt Arya?’ He looked absolutely terrified, blue eyes wide.

 

‘I think you had something to say to Elenei.’

 

‘Oh.’ He shrugged off his terror like a short coat and barely looked up at her. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry.’

 

Arya twirled her knife a little ostentatiously. ‘Try again.’

 

Rickard swallowed hard. ‘I apologise, Cousin Elenei. I spoke without thinking. I’m sorry if you feel-’

 

‘But you meant it.’

 

‘No! I mean… not exactly. I did not wish to cause you hurt.’

 

‘You don’t need to apologise for your opinion, _cousin_. I understand.’ Elenei fussed with her potatoes and pie for a moment.

 

‘It’s not much of an apology,’ said Gendry, fixing his sharp gaze on his nephew, who squirmed like a boy several years younger.

 

‘No,’ said Elenei. ‘Tomorrow though, Rickard will find me in the training yard.’

 

‘Why?’ He asked, scowling.

 

‘Because I’ve just challenged you to duel with me. Hammers or swords, the choice is yours.’

 

‘You can’t wield a warhammer! You’re just a girl!’

 

‘Cousin.’ Her voice was hard as the rocks of Shipbreaker Bay. ‘I am either like a man or I am a girl. You cannot insult me both ways. Nor can you pacify me with an apology that is no apology at all.’

 

The round table fell silent then. Every one of the grown folk wanted to say something but held back to allow the scene to unfold.

 

‘Aye,’ Rickard replied after a moment. ‘Hammers it is.’

 

‘Training hammers,’ Gendry cut in. ‘Nobody has died in my training yard in all the years it’s been mine and I won’t start with my own family.’

 

‘As you wish, Father.’

 

‘As I _demand_ , Elenei.’

 

She nodded once. ’Tomorrow, then.’

 

Rickard shoved a large piece of meat into his mouth. ’Aye.’

 

The feast continued as feasts do, with a sort of truce between Stark and Baratheon. Rickard was a personable, charming young man who reminded his mother and aunt of The Young Wolf King Robb Stark and of wild Rickon both. He made friends easily and the young of the Stormlands were no exception. Elenei, by contrast, remained at the table with her parents and their guest-kin.

 

‘You can go,’ Arya whispered. ‘Be with your friends.’

 

Elenei shrugged with such expression that Arya was almost impressed. ‘They all seem far more taken with my boisterous cousin than they ever have been with me.’

 

‘Oh, love-’

 

‘I am poor company at the moment.’

 

‘So you’ll inflict that on us?’ Arya joked, but Elenei did not see the funny side. ‘It was a joke, sweet one.’

 

‘I should just… leave.’

 

‘You don’t have to.’

 

‘Good night, Mother.’ Elenei rose up. ‘Good night Aunt Sansa, Uncle Podrick. Father.’

 

Elenei made her way through the crowd and as she passed by the young folks, a laugh rose up. Whether or not it was even slightly associated with her was not clear, but her shoulders collapsed and her pace quickened until she was entirely out of sight.

 

‘Wasn’t this supposed to be a good idea?’ Gendry muttered to Arya, who nodded grimly.

 

‘We’ll see what happens tomorrow, I suppose.’

 

‘Aye.’ He leaned closer, until her breath was hot on her neck. She shivered. ‘I hope she kicks his arse into the dirt.’

 

Arya laughed out loud, gaining Sansa’s attention. ‘You might think that, milord. I couldn’t possibly comment.’

 

‘Do you think I should go after her?’ He asked, eyes back on the door where Elenei had departed.

 

‘What will you do?’

 

He paused a moment, brow furrowed as he considered it. ’Dunno. Give her a hug, for one thing.’

 

‘Then, yes.’

 

*

 

It did not take much for Gendry to find his daughter. There were three places in the keep that she liked best. One was the kitchens, where Roanna and the servants spoilt her with sweet treats, but it was too busy there during a feast to provide much refuge. Another was the training yard, but this was not a place for anyone during a feast. And so, he climbed up through the drum tower until he reached the top… then carried on out onto the crenellations.

 

It was not a hospitable place to be except in the most clement and forgiving of weather. Even on a fine sunny day the winds were enough to whip a person right off the tower. Now, it was dark and a fine mist of rain was falling.

 

He found Elenei sat in the guard alcove, wrapped in a worn old Baratheon cloak he recognised as the first one he’d ever owned for himself. She’d played in it as a girl, when the vast swathes of fabric could act as a tent or a nest or a fortress, or a dragon’s back… or whatever she fancied dreaming for herself. It now served as an oversized, worn blanket.

 

He missed that little girl with the bright, beaming smile. She hadn’t smiled much lately. He’d thought it was because she was… well, like him. He didn’t smile about much. Davos once said he’d seen Gendry smile more in the week of Arya’s return than in the previous two years. That’s how he’d known, he’d said.

 

‘Len?’

 

‘Don’t call me that.’

 

‘All right.’

 

‘It’s a _boy’s_ name. Bad enough I should look like one.’

 

‘As you wish.’ A strong gust buffeted against him and he ducked down to the protection of the strong stone walls. ‘You know, much as it might pain me to say this as your father… I don’t think any grown man of sense could look at you and see another man.’

 

‘Perhaps not. But they see a broad-shouldered, lumbering _slab_. Like I told Mother, I do hear what people say about me.’

 

‘Oh aye? What do they say?’

 

‘That I’m a broad-shouldered lumbering slab! That I’m not really a girl at all. That if it looks like a man and talks like a man and moves like a man then I must… I’m ugly.’

 

‘They must be thinking of someone else. I think you’re beautiful.’

 

‘You _have_ to say that. You’re my father. And I look like you!’

 

‘Not as much as other people think. I see plenty of your mother in you.’

 

Elenei raised an eyebrow at him, deeply suspiciously and unbelieving.

 

‘Yep, just like that!’ He chuckled. ‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you being big and strong. I always wanted a daughter who could take care of herself. Wouldn’t ever want you to be reliant on anyone. Not me, not some other man.’

 

‘So you want me to be alone?’

 

‘Gods, whenever have I said that? There’s a difference between being reliant on someone and being… just… with them because you want to be. When I was a lad and I first met your mother… seven hells, I saw how vulnerable she was.’

 

‘She was never-‘

 

‘She was a child cast out into a world she knew nothing about. She was dependent on the goodness of Yoren, then… oh, it was worse than I can even think on now. I swore to protect her there and then and for the first time, I saw what it was to be powerless. Don’t tell her that.’

 

‘She wasn’t powerless. She had Needle!’

 

‘Aye, and she wasn’t much trained with it. But no… she was less defenceless than almost any other girl would be, but she was- Gods, she was so _small_. She was quick, but she wasn’t strong. For a long time, all we could do was survive, best we could. She wasn’t the Lightbringer of legend then. Not yet. She hadn’t the faintest idea of life as smallfolk, either. Bossy little thing hadn’t gone without food or water a day in her life. Or a comfortable bed. Or protection. She didn’t know it then, of course. But when you were born, she made me swear that you would never, ever be ignorant. That you would be raised to be clever and understand the world beyond ladies’ lessons. That you would be able to look after yourself if something happened to me and her.’

 

‘Nothing did!’

 

‘No, but it was close at times. When Edric Storm decided he wanted to challenge me for the Lordship. During the challenges to King Bran’s reign. During the worst storms. It’s not just the work of men that could’ve done for us, Elenei… we didn’t want you to be… weak. Mayhaps we forgot that you might also want some ladies’ lessons. Or the company of other young ladies.’

 

‘I can sew!’

 

‘I know, lass.’ He unconsciously reached up to touch the stag embroidered on his doublet - her work. ‘Fine, lovely stitching.’

 

‘I have… some friends,’ she conceded. ‘But they all know I’ll be the Lady of Storm’s End one day. It’s difficult to be friends with your liege lord.’

 

‘Aye, don’t I know that! First year I was here, I tried to make friends with everyone. It took a skirmish with the Conningtons to realise I didn’t serve anyone by being friends.’

 

‘You have lots of friends!”

 

‘I have many people with whom I have good relationships. But I’m their lord and they don’t want me to forget it. That was a hard lesson for me. I’d… never been that man to lift myself or my needs above others. So… all I could do was try and make sure everyone else has what they need, and a bit more if we can. It’s lonely work, this lording.’

 

‘Aye. I don’t want to be lonely, Papa. I’m already so…’ She choked back a sob and it was then that Gendry lost patience and stood up, scooped her into his lap like she was a child, and sat himself down in the alcove.

 

‘I wouldn’t have you lonely for all the water in the Bay,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

 

‘You have Mama. She has you. Ser Davos has his family and… I’m just me.’

 

‘You’re one of us, my love.’

 

‘I know. And sometimes you’re so concerned with Mama that I think you don’t even see me. You don’t mean to ignore me, I know you don’t. But you do, just the same.’

 

Gendry hugged her close and pressed a kiss to her cheek. ‘I love you with all my heart, Len. All of it.’

 

‘I know. But I also know if Mama wanted to leave tomorrow, you’d follow her. And I might not see you for moons and moons.’

 

Given the conversation he had with Arya earlier that day, he could not help but feel deeply, deeply guilty.

 

‘Well…’ He took a deep breath. ‘Life is complicated. I could follow her across the world entire and still love you with my whole heart.’

 

‘But… don’t do that?’

 

‘All right, little love. I won’t do that until you tell me to fuck off because I’m in your way.’

 

‘Mama said something similar earlier.’

 

‘Did she, now?’

 

‘Aye. Sometimes I think you share a brain with her.’

 

‘Well, the benefit is all mine, I assure you. And that’s another way you’re like her. You’re so _clever_. Quick. Not like me.’

 

‘You’re not stupid!’

 

‘No, I suppose not… but nothing compared to you and her. Wolves are more intelligent than stags. Direwolves especially.’

 

‘How…’ As with her mother earlier in the day, Elenei found herself unable to hold back from asking questions she’d held in her heart for years. ‘…how could you wait for her, not knowing if she was coming back?’

 

Gendry sighed heavily and gazed out into the inky black night, into the darkness and sea that he’d stared out at for years, wondering faintly if the next ship on the horizon might be hers, despite the geography not being in his favour.

 

Finally, he answered: ’I didn’t know I was really waiting. I just… I didn’t think to myself “I shall never love again!” but there was nobody came along who… who filled that space even a little. In the event, she came home before I got too tired of waiting or before the noise to marry and have heirs got too much to ignore. Nobody minded me being young and unattached then. Might’ve been different after five years, or ten.’

 

‘She told me earlier that she chooses to be here.’

 

‘I certainly wouldn’t try and make her stay somewhere she didn’t want to be.’

 

‘How do you stand knowing that she might leave any day?’

 

‘It’s very simple really, little Len. I love her.’

 

‘But… most men-‘

 

‘Haven’t you noticed yet? I’m not like most of them. Never have been, lord or not. Many folks - men mostly - over the years have asked how I “tamed the wild she-wolf” and my answer is simple: I didn’t even try. We raised you to be respectful and kind to others, but never tame. That wasn’t just your mother’s doing, you know.’

 

‘I know. Thank you.’

 

‘I don’t know what the future holds, lovely girl. I do know that you are lovely and you have a good heart. Someone worthy of you will see that, and the rest of them can drown themselves in a storm. You’re still very young. There is plenty of time to find someone who will love you as you deserve. I won’t allow you to settle for less than that. That’s the only stipulation I’ll ever enforce on you regarding marriage.’

 

‘All right.’ She did not sound convinced or certain, but the despondency in her voice had faded a little. ‘What if I never find such a person?’

 

‘That’s up to you.’

 

‘What if the Baratheon line ends with me?’

 

‘Then it ends. It was gone once before and… the end of a house, no matter how great, is not the end of the world. As long as the people are cared for, the sigil doesn’t matter much. If you’re concerned about disappointing me or your mother somehow, that’s not a way you’ll do it.’

 

She’d held herself tense and taut until that moment, when she gave in and burrowed her face into his shoulder and cried. He rubbed her back through the the old cloak.

 

‘It’s been a bit of a day, eh? I don’t much like having guests either. But… it’s late and cold and wet, and I won’t have you catch a chill.’

 

Gendry stood and set her to her feet. He followed her inside and down to her room.

 

‘Want me to get a bath run for you?’

 

‘No. The cloak took the brunt.’ She let it fall to the stone floor with a wet slap as if to demonstrate.

 

‘Don’t want you sick for your duel tomorrow. I need to you kick his arse.’

 

She smiled faintly at that. ‘Just some tea.’

 

‘I’ll have it sent up.’

 

‘Thank you.’ Now inside, she was too embarrassed to look at him.

 

‘Now,’ he said, tipping her chin up with his hand. ‘Sleep well, sweet girl.’

 

Gendry’s feet were heavy with fatigue as he made his way down the stairs, but he at least hoped he had made a difference.


	4. Trial By Cousin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An informal Starkbowl comes to Storm's End, while the survivors of the Long Night deal with some of the lingering pain from those dark times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, guess what dork posted this chapter in the wrong flaming fic?
> 
> Anyway, thanks to everyone for the comments so far - I really appreciate them and I hope you enjoy this one... seems all I've done this week is write about Baratheons smacking people with hammers!
> 
> This seems to be turning into a sort of sequel to At Storm's End (to the extent I just got 'em mixed up and posted this chapter over there) so you can read them that way, but neither should be required reading for the other!

Gendry returned to the feast to find gregariously drunk Podrick telling tales of the Long Night to anyone who would listen - which was almost everyone - while Arya stared into the fire and pretended not to listen. Sansa remained poised, a pleasant, pleasing smile fixed onto her face as her eyes remained cast at a point just behind Pod.

 

He remained distant, choosing to understand the situation before barrelling in. For once in his life.

 

‘…seven hells, and then the bastards breached the wall of fire by laying themselves down on it! Must’ve been at the Night Fucker’s magical command. There we were: hundreds of the undead, killing themselves again so thousands more could walk over them and come at us! And there I was, with Ser Brienne and Ser Jaime, just slashing away until my arms wanted to drop off. Except we couldn’t let up for a moment. Not even a moment. And the bodies piled up and it was desperate, right enough… And that ice dragon! Gods, it was a terror. And I haven’t even talked about how the Night King made our own friends rise from the dead. Little Lyanna Giantkiller-‘

 

Arya stood then. She bowed to the Queen, to Podrick and without a word, moved to leave. It was then, his eyes following Arya, that Podrick saw Gendry.

 

‘And of course,’ he said, quite oblivious to Arya’s discomfort. ‘I can’t forget what your own Lord did! Fought on until the last moment ‘longside Tormund Giantsbane - he was huge, weaned by a giantess! - and not even just that, he made all our dragon glass weapons.’

 

‘Not all of ‘em, Pod. There were other smiths.’

 

‘Well!’ Pod waved his tankard, a few drops of beer escaping that he licked off his hand like it was nothing. ‘It was you that figured it all out! You worked night and day to arm us all and then stood with us in the vanguard. We who fought in the Long Night don’t forget them that stood with us, dead or alive.’

 

Pod then looked at everyone else, raised his tankard high and with a grandeur he had never actually possessed, proclaimed a toast: ‘To all the warriors of the Long Night! To all its survivors!’

 

Gendry wanted to hit him, in truth. How could he speak so casually of such an experience? As the rest of the feasting throng yelled, cheered and toasted them, Gendry was cast back to the night Daenerys Targaryen gave him his legitimacy and lordship.

 

He could hear the echoing voices from then; could see Sandor Clegane scowling; could hear the cheers and the drunken antics outside; he remembered the look on Arya’s face as she said _no_.

 

He didn’t realise his eyes were all but screwed shut until they started to ache. Open again, he saw Sansa coaxing Podrick to sit down. He dearly wanted to exchange a harsh word or six, but then he saw how Podrick’s hands quivered and his eyelids fluttered rapidly as Sansa whispered in his ear.

 

Ah. No doubt playing it all as a merry jape was Podrick’s way of dealing with it. God knows he and Arya had their own bleak jokes to cope with horror. He was no less annoyed, but he could not rage at Pod for it.

 

‘At least you didn’t have ‘em chanting Arya’s name,’ he said with almost equal joviality. ‘She punched the last man to do that right square in the face.’

 

‘Aye?’

 

‘Aye. It was the great tall Selmy lad, so she had to stand on a chair to do it, but she did it just the same.’

 

‘How did he respond?’ Sansa asked, her curiosity winning out over propriety.

 

‘He’s half in love with her so he swooned a little then laughed it off and never did it again.’

 

‘Nobody wins Arya’s favour with flattery,’ she mused, her gaze returning to a distant point once more.

 

‘We do not,’ Gendry replied with a chuckle. ‘I hope you won’t be insulted if I go after her?’

 

Sansa waved him away. ‘Not at all. I must take a moment to remind Pod of discretion and valour.’

 

Gendry didn’t wait to see if she was joking or not and took the stairs up through the drum tower - again - two at a time.

 

Arya was in the only place that she allowed herself to feel weak or vulnerable: the secluded sanctuary of their chambers at the top of the tower. Sure enough, once he’d broken the tokenbarricade shoved against the door, he found her stood at the open window, staring out to sea.

 

‘I don’t mind calling out every single man in the Stark household,’ he said. ‘I’ll fight the fucking lot of them. But… he meant no harm.’

 

‘I know. That’s why he’s still got all his teeth.’

 

‘Are you well?’

 

‘No.’ At least she was being honest.

 

Gendry shrugged out of his doublet and pulled his shirt out of his breeches, taking a moment to breathe. He pulled off his boots and let them remain where they fell. He would give her time and she would either speak or-

 

‘It doesn’t feel like my life anymore,’ she said. ‘Just… a dream I had. All of it, just a dream.’

 

‘Mayhaps it’s your mind’s way of letting go? You deserve it, love.’

 

‘Mayhaps.’ Arya took in a long, slow breath and released it just as slowly. She blinked twice and turned to him, eyes clear and sharp. ‘Elenei?’

 

‘I don’t think I made anything worse.’

 

She snorted. ‘As if you could. She worships the ground you stomp on.’

 

‘Very funny.’

 

‘You’re her favourite and you know that very well.’

 

He grinned and flopped down onto the bed, luxuriating a moment in the soft feather mattress beneath him even as the force made the bed creak loudly, ‘Will she be… all right? Not today, I mean- you know.’

 

‘Eventually.’ Arya joined him, though still fully clothed. ‘I look forward to her smacking that arrogant little shit into the dirt tomorrow morning.’

 

He reached out to take her hand and pulled it close to his heart. ‘I worry about her. She’s lonely. She hasn’t any…’

 

‘Friends?’

 

‘Well, yes, but I think there’s something else. Nobody is her equal. Everyone’s either older than her or younger than her, or they’re smaller or bigger or more powerful or weaker or richer or poorer. Or they’re stronger or better trained but they’re guards and soldiers here to serve her. And that’s unfair when you think that no matter what happened or where we were… I always had you.’

 

‘Until you didn’t.’ She might be talking about the time after the Brotherhood or she might be talking about her quest west. It didn’t matter. He pulled her hand closer to kiss it.

 

‘Should we send her away to see more of the world?’ He frowned at the thought but knew it was necessary to ask.

 

Arya’s frown matched his own, but more for practical than emotional reasons: ’Where to?’

 

‘I don’t know. North with Sansa? No… King’s Landing?’

 

‘Not as long as I have breath left to breathe, milord.’

 

‘Dorne? Highgarden? The Vale? She might do well there with Robin’s lot.’

 

‘Dorne would be a fine idea if they weren’t on the brink of revolution. Highgarden? Bronn? No. Robin might be a good idea but his children are so much younger. North? I think that will depend on the outcome of tomorrow’s duel. She might like Essos-‘

 

‘She might. What about West or south or… I dunno.’ He groaned, and it turned into a yawn.

 

‘Tired, love?’ Arya asked, voice low.

 

‘Aye.’

 

‘How tired?’

 

Before he could answer, a small hand crept across and skimmed across a patch of skin left bare where his shirt had shifted with his slump onto the bed.

 

‘Not ever so tired,’ he replied, a little undercut by a new yawn. ‘Not _too_ tired.’

 

‘Good.’

 

*

 

The morning was suitably drizzling and grey at first light but this did not put off any of the folks who gathered in the training yard. News of the duel had spread far and wide - not helped by Rickard’s drunken crowing at the feast before the Queen had him dragged off to his room - and everyone wanted to see what would happen when the wild Stark boy and the girl they knew as stubborn little Elenei met in combat.

 

‘Should we have cleared the tourney ground for this?’ Arya asked Gendry as they went outside after their late breakfast. ‘It’s busy.’

 

‘All the better for everyone to see her knock some sense into him,’ he muttered.

 

Queen Sansa and Podrick had taken seats in the small viewing gallery above the yard. Arya moved to join but Gendry held on fast to her arm.

 

‘I want to be close in case we need to intervene.’

 

‘You really think Rickard can-‘

 

‘Not Rickard,’ he said. ‘I don’t want Elenei to hurt him too badly.’

 

‘He’s a fearsome Northman,’ Arya said, pride for her homeland rising up. ‘He won’t make it easy for her.’

 

‘Then by all means,’ he bowed grandly. ‘Head off to sit with the Northern Queen. I’ll stay here with my people.’

 

Arya’s eyes narrowed dangerously a moment before she relaxed. ‘You’re right. I’ll stay ready if I need to-‘

 

‘I’m not going to let you get in between hammers-‘

 

‘No, you’re not going to _let_ me do a fucking thing!’

 

‘Seven hells, Arya, I didn’t mean it like that.’

 

‘Why are we arguing?’

 

A new voice joined: ’Because you’re worried about the little Stormlord.’

 

They turned to find Ser Davos behind them, managing to frown and smirk at the same time.

 

‘Aye,’ Gendry agreed, although Arya said nothing. ‘I am.’

 

‘She’ll be fine,’ Davos said with the almost careless confidence of a grandfather. ‘She knows what she’s about.’

 

There was some waiting around then. Roanna and her kitchen women distributed ale, mead and sweet treats to the gathering.

 

‘We should’ve held an actual tourney,’ Gendry griped.

 

Arya raised an eyebrow at him. ’You told me that you would rather jump into the bay carrying an anvil than host a tourney.’

 

‘That was after the Tourney at Highgarden, woman. Do you remember everything I say?’

 

‘Almost. And what I forget, Davos remembers.’

 

‘Aye, lad.’

 

He rolled his eyes and leaned against a post. ‘It was a turn of phrase. I wouldn’t want to host a tourney but this is starting to feel like it.’

 

With an unerring sense of timing, Rickard Stark emerged into the training yard then. He was dressed in light armour and had even pulled his unruly hair back from his face. He smirked in such a way that Gendry renewed his wish to smack the little shit personally. Rickard ranged around the empty space, gathering good wishes from the gathering. A group of younger folk gathered at the other end of the yard and cheered grandly for him when he approached.

 

‘Aren’t those our own lot?’ Arya hissed to her husband. ‘Some fucking loyalty.’

 

Gendry said nothing. He crossed his arms and waited.

 

Elenei entered the yard quietly and alone, dressed in strong, light armour that shimmered in the grey light. She curtsied to the Queen and to the Storm Lord - the former sent a bright, peaceable smile, the latter winked - and then moved to the centre of the yard without acknowledging anyone else. Like her cousin, she wore armour but no helm.

 

Ser Davos had been chosen to oversee the duel. He carefully examined the wooden training hammers for defects or interference, then gave them the pick.

 

‘You choose first,’ Elenei said. ‘You’re our guest.’

 

‘Ah, ladies first!’ This earned him a loud laugh from across the gathering and a red blush on Elenei’s face.

 

Davos scoffed. ’Rickard, you take the left; Elenei, you take the other. Done.’

 

They obeyed and moved apart, ready to begin.

 

‘Are you both ready?’ Davos asked. They nodded. ‘The duel will last until one of you concedes. If you’re unconscious, I’ll take that as conceding. Try not to actually kill each other.’

 

Rickard swung his hammer several times. ‘Very light. Should be easy to wield, even for you, _my lady_.’

 

Elenei snorted a contemptuous laugh at him, but otherwise said and did nothing except take her place, hammer at her side.

 

Davos moved away. ‘And… begin!’

 

Rickard immediately leapt towards Elenei, hammer swinging this way and that, back and forth and back and forth. His new gang of friends cheered.

 

It became clear very quickly that the two were not poorly matched in skill or strength. For every swing and jab of hammer Rickard made, Elenei blocked and pushed back. The cheering died down after some minutes of watching this not entirely interesting duel.

 

Rickard was a wild young man but he was well-trained, even if the hammer was not his first choice of weapon in general. Elenei generally preferred the precision of a good Braavosi blade (rather, her father’s own interpretation thereof) but Davos had carved a small hammer for her before her first name day and she was well-used to them.

 

Indeed,there was one way in which Elenei had a distinct advantage: she was used to training with real hammers and Rickard had mostly used them in training. So, as the duel continued, Rickard’s arms tired of the swinging motion more quickly and he began to falter.

 

He wasted energy on making moves look impressive as much as effective where Elenei moved sparingly and only when necessary. Where Rickard leapt, Elenei stepped. Where he swung broad, she only did so as far as needed.

 

Where Rickard was a raging sea swell, Elenei was the rock upon which it crashed - the hard grey stone of Storm’s End, no less, thousands of years old and only slightly smoothened by the crash of water.

 

‘Gods, this is boring,’ someone cried out.

 

Elenei smiled then, and it was as though the remark booted her up the arse. She moved swiftly then, bearing down upon Rickard like she was now the storm. Her hammer swings were fast and unyielding. She made clanging contact with his armour several times and Rickard staggered back more each time until he fell back onto the ground.

 

Still, he was quick and up on his feet again - if unsteadily - before she could finish the fight. He tried to increase his own power but was tiring badly and soon there was an onslaught of hammer strikes that sent him back onto the ground.

 

Rickard rolled out of her way and succeeded in that regard but left his hammer behind in so doing. Elenei swiftly grabbed it off the ground. Two hammers swung in time as she approached once he was back on his feet.

 

‘Rickard, grab this!’ A friend of his tossed him a sword - live steel - and for a moment Rickard looked down at it like he’d never seen a sword before.

 

Then, he let it fall to the ground. ‘I won’t win by cheating.’

 

‘Do you yield?’ Davos asked.

 

‘Will I just get smashed to pieces if I do?’ He asked.

 

‘Probably, lad.’

 

‘Then yeah, I yield.’ This was mumbled.

 

‘What was that?’ Davos pressed.’

 

‘I yield! I bloody yield.’

 

A cheer rose up then for Elenei, who dropped the hammers into the mud. She seemed almost fresh after the duel, hardly even breathing hard.

 

Rickard sighed, then bent the knee to his cousin. ‘I apologise, cousin. I was unkind.’

 

‘You were.’

 

Rickard opened his mouth to speak again then, for once, thought better of it.

 

The crowd mostly dispersed then, to the jobs they’d neglected in favour of a good fight. The Queen and Pod came down the stairs to the yard, while Arya and Gendry went to Elenei.

 

‘Well done, wolfling,’ Arya whispered as she pulled her daughter into an embrace. ‘I’m proud of you.’

 

‘Did he get any hits in?’ Gendry asked, peering at her armour with professional intensity.

 

Elenei smiled a little. ’A few but nothing to send a raven about.’

 

‘You did very well,’ he said. ‘Want me to unhook that?’

 

She nodded and let Gendry loosen her chest plate and pull it over her head. ‘I can breathe again!’

 

He scowled. ‘You couldn’t before? What’s wrong with it?’

 

‘It was a joke. But it’s a little snug. Apparently, I’ve grown a bit in the last year or so.’

 

‘I’ll make you more.’

 

‘With what time?’ Arya asked.

 

‘I’ll find the time. Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.’ He howled with laughter as he dodged her swiping hand, then yelped as Elenei cuffed him around the head.

 

‘Thank you, Elenei,’ Arya laughed.

 

‘Well, I knew you wouldn’t be able to reach on your own.’

 

It was now Gendry’s turn to laugh and, in view of Elenei’s improved mood, Arya could only laugh at herself also.

 

Sansa and Pod approached, Rickard skulking behind them.

 

‘Well done, sweetling,’ Sansa grasped Elenei’s hands even though they were dirty from the duel. ‘I’m very proud of you.’

 

‘For beating your son?’

 

Sansa didn’t even blink. ’For being the best. You have the best of each of your parents, it seems. And perhaps something that’s all your own?’

 

Elenei blushed at such praise and nodded shyly. ‘Thank you, Aunt Sansa.’

 

‘Now!’ Sansa’s Queen voice was in place. ‘I shall see you be friends and kin. Rickard?’

 

‘Aye, Mama.’

 

‘Yes, Aunt Sansa.’

 

‘I think you should both train with me every morning as long as you’re here,’ said Arya, meeting the Queen voice with Master-of-Arms voice. They nodded agreement and then Rickard held his hand out, apparently to shake it.

 

As Elenei held out her own hand, he turned her wrist and instead placed a kiss on the back of her hand.

 

‘I’m sorry, cousin.’ This time, without an audience to play to, Rickard sounded sincere.

 

‘Thank you.’

 

‘Right then.’ Arya rubbed her hands together. ‘I really want to go riding. Anyone else?’

 

In short order, a riding party was arranged and peace settled once more upon Storm’s End.

 

For the time being.


	5. Stars Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the cool comments so far - I appreciate them, especially as 'children of' stories are often like one's dreams: they are *fascinating* to us but don't necessarily translate to anyone else!
> 
> Just a quick one really, but it's got quite a lot going on, I think.

Some days passed companionably. Elenei and Rickard found that - once they were over their initial dislike - they fell into the roles of competitively friendly cousins easily enough. It was still true that the young people of Storm’s End fell over themselves to be around Rickard in comparison with Elenei but there was nothing much to be done about that.

 

Even Gendry, who still hosted a deep suspicion of his good-nephew in his heart, had to admit the boy was charming. Arya said - quietly, in the dark, where nobody else could hear - that he reminded her of Robb Stark before the wars.

 

‘He was…’ even whispering in the dead of night, Arya struggled to give voice to memories from a time so long ago - not just in literal time but experience - and it was all Gendry could do to wait and let her speak. ‘He was bright, like a star. He was clever and kind and funny and I didn’t care about him as much as Jon. He used to carry me out of feasts and tease me for wanting to learn skills like archery and sword-fighting… but he didn’t ever try to stop me.’

 

Gendry reached out in the dark, hoping to find her hand. By some kind of sixth sense, he did. ‘I’m sorry, love.’

 

‘I saw him. After. The fucking Freys hacked off his head and stuck Grey Wind’s on his neck. I saw it and you know, as much as I loathed Cersei and the Mountain… I’m gladdest that I ended that fucking house.’

 

Gendry said nothing to that. He was still, deep down, conflicted about the tales that came out of the Twins after Arya tore through the place. It was one thing to kill Walder Fucking Frey, and one thing to end his line… but quite another to bake his sons into a _pie_ and feed it to him. That was something he couldn’t quite admire, so he tried never to think about it.

 

‘Seeing that boy,’ Arya was not finished, which surprised him a little. ‘I’m sure I was right to stay away from Winterfell. Nothing but ghosts there for me.’

 

‘Well,’ he chose to speak up now - if only to make her smile. ‘On behalf of Storm’s End and its Lord, I’m also glad.’

 

She punched his shoulder lightly, easily finding it in the dark, although her movements were groggy with sleep.

 

‘I’m not glad about the ghosts,’ he added. ‘I wish… I wish I could help.’

 

‘I know. I wish I could help with yours.’ She pulled herself closer and her hair tickled his face. ‘Tomorrow will be better.’

 

‘It will.’

 

They slept and mercifully, did not dream.

 

*

 

Elenei rode out to the furthest of Storm’s End direct tenants once every two moons. The supposed purpose was to collect rents, but she considered the ride itself reason enough. That she liked their tenants helped, of course.

 

‘Greetings, Geyrath!’ She called, upon reaching the first of the farms. The head of the household was waiting for her, having seen the Baratheon girl and her horse come over the hill. Beside him, his wife and small children waited in their best clothes, bearing food and drink. Elenei dismounted in a jump and gratefully accepted the watered ale and bread. ’Myrelle, how are you?’

 

‘We are all well, thank you, my lady.’ The farmer’s wife bobbed in a quick curtsey. ‘Little Renly has been waiting to see you all morning.’

 

Renly had six name days behind him and was a mischievous and clever little boy. He adored Elenei and she had a soft spot for him. She knelt down to be closer to his eye level.

 

‘Greetings, my dear friend.’

 

‘My lady!’ Renly handed her a small, crude carving.

 

Geyrath chuckled at her furrowed brow. ‘Renly carved this stag just for you, my lady.’

 

It was a stag! ‘Well, this is the loveliest stag I’ve ever been given.’ It wasn’t a lie. She was truly touched by the little boy’s thoughtful gift and… as stags carved by little boys go, it was surely a good attempt.

 

Robert dashed forward to embrace her, which was not exactly proper, but she was not going to begrudge a little boy a moment of kindness.

 

The rent was a perfunctory, easy transaction that spoke to the good agricultural and economic conditions lately.

 

‘I’ll see you all soon!’ She promised as she mounted her horse once more. She tucked the little wooden stag into the rent money satchel and with another wave, rode off to the next farm.

 

*

 

Six more farms were dealt with in good time. She’d been collecting rent with or on behalf of her father for two years now and had built good relationships with all of the tenants. Except one, and she consequently left him for last even though it was not the easiest geographical journey.

 

Old Thom had seen at least seventy name days and could remember the days of good Steffon Baratheon and his wife. He remembered Robert, Stannis and Renly, and he was firmly opposed to a bastard - legitimised or not - in charge of Storm’s End. He had been opposed ever since Gendry first arrived at Storm’s End and had remained so even in the face of the Lord’s kind patience.

 

He never missed a single copper of rent, but he was always surly and sometimes plainly rude. The first time Elenei had accompanied her father to Old Thom’s farm, the old fucker spat in the direction of her horse and Elenei saw the Baratheon fury in Gendry for the first time.

 

She’d seen him angry before, but never to this extent. Gendry had unsheathed his sword and held the point right at Thom’s neck. _‘You can say what the fuck you like about me, you nasty old fuck…’ he’d stormed, ‘…but next time you’re anything less than perfectly courteous to my daughter, your head and neck will separate before you can draw breath. And I’ll find some_ bastard _to take over your farm.’_

 

Old Thom hated Gendry on principle, but he hated the idea of his life’s work going to an unknown bastard even more. Elenei was certain this was the reason he was still alive. On this particular day, he sat waiting for her on a rickety chair by his front door, smoking a foul-stenched pipe.

 

‘Good morning, Thom!’ She dismounted smoothly. She’d tried to be friendly to him in the past and had settled on “scrupulously proper Lady of Storm’s End” as the most effective manner of dealing with him.

 

He grunted in reply and did not stand up. Instead, he held out a small pouch of coins and waited for her to come to him.

 

‘My thanks,’ she said, taking the pouch and putting it straight into the satchel. She made a show of properly noting the amount in her ledger. She did not count it then, the better to avoid insulting the old curmudgeon, and did not try to make conversation.

 

She was about to leave when she saw him wince. It was not like him to show any kind of weakness. ‘Thom?’

 

‘What?’ A pause. ‘My lady?’

 

‘Are you well?’

 

‘Course I am.’

 

‘Stand up, then.’

 

‘Shan’t.’

 

‘I am your lady and you will stand.’

 

‘You’re not any lady.’

 

‘Enough of that. Stand up. Unless you cannot.’

 

Thom flushed red then.

 

‘What is it?’

 

‘Nothing.’

 

‘It doesn’t seem like nothing. I’ll send the maester or one of the healers out to see you as soon as can be.’

 

‘Don’t want it.’

 

‘Thom, really-‘

 

‘Don’t want it!’ He yelled, as much as his frail voice could manage.

 

‘I know you hate me to the depths of your soul, but I won’t leave you out here all on your own without at least getting someone to see you. You’re not getting any younger-‘

 

‘Fuck off, girl.’

 

‘Shan’t.’

 

‘Just let me die on my own!’

 

‘Die? You? I thought you weren’t ever going to die? I thought the Stranger already came for you and you told him to fuck off?’

 

Thom flushed again. ‘Sounds like something I’d say.’

 

‘But that isn’t how it works,’ she said. ‘I know you hate me but please let me help. It’s my duty.’

 

‘Don’t hate you,’ he mumbled.

 

‘Well, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Now, if you’re having difficulty, may I at least help you back inside? And I can ask my father to send some lads up to help with some of the hard labour while you’re recovering.’

 

‘Don’t.’

 

‘Don’t what?’

 

‘Any of it. Don’t want no fuss.’

 

‘It’s not fuss, idiot. Let me do my duty, you miserable old bastard!’

 

‘Leave me alone!’

 

A new voice joined them: ’May I help?’

 

Elenei had been so caught up with the old man that she’d failed to notice a young man ride along and stop to watch them. He was tall, thin and had a long braid of blond hair running down his back.

 

She sighed and glanced back at Thom. ’It’s nothing you need to worry about.’

 

‘Oh,’ he said, purple eyes gleaming. ‘But I will always worry about a young lady on her own in such a wild place as this.’

 

‘Wild, you say?’

 

‘Aye, these are wild lands. Everyone knows it.’

 

‘Everyone must be wrong then. Now,’ she turned back to Thom. ‘Let me help you.’

 

‘Fuck off.’

 

‘Is that how you talk to a lady?’ The interloper dismounted, hand on the hilt of his sword.

 

Thom wheezed a harsh laugh: ‘She ain’t no lady!’

 

Elenei was then obliged to suffer under the appraising gaze of a young man who was almost certainly highborn by his appearance and quality of the horse he rode. She didn’t know him, nor his purpose on _her_ lands _,_ and presently cared little for such details. ‘Thom, if you don’t let me help you, I will ride home and get my father to come back himself.’

 

A pause, then he held out his arms. ‘Fine.’

 

Elenei had to bear almost all of Thom’s weight. He was incredibly weak and could hardly lift his feet up to walk. She saw him settled in his bed, a flagon of ale within reach, and when she left, the young man was still waiting. She ignored him in favour of mounting her horse once more.

 

Before she could ride away, he nudged his horse towards her. ’May I escort you somewhere, my lady?’

 

She snorted. ‘I’d like to see you even _try_.’

 

‘You must be Elenei Baratheon.’

 

‘Must I be?’

 

‘Stories of your distinct beauty and strength are well known across the kingdoms.’

 

‘Well, then they _must_ be true.’ She leapt up into her saddle with more power than necessary. ‘Who are you?’

 

‘I’m here to visit Lord Baratheon.’

 

‘That wasn’t the question I asked.’ She was quite suspicious of any young man that rode around without visible sigils pretending to be a knight, and his dodge seemed to reinforce her instinct.

 

He cracked a grin. ’Ser Beric Dayne, my lady. At your service. But you can call me The Sword of the Morning if you insist.’

 

Elenei scoffed out loud then. ‘You, the Sword of the Morning? And I’m the Queen of All The Kingdoms.’

 

‘Well no,’ he flushed a deep red. ‘I’m not the Sword of the Morning _yet_. But I will be. That’s one reason I’m going to Storm’s end. I want to train with your brave, far-famed mother.’

 

‘Don’t call her far-famed when she can hear you.’

 

‘And I want to ask your father to make me a sword that’s a worthwhile stepping stone to Dawn.’

 

‘I understand.’ Elenei did, of course. Everyone came to Storm’s End for the Nightslayer’s talents or the Smith Lord’s fine work. Everyone came to say they’d met _Arya Stark_ or had acquired some of _Lord Baratheon’s_ metalwork, and nobody else at Storm’s End meant a fucking thing.

 

Elenei nudged the horse forward and did not wait for Ser Beric of House Dayne to follow.


	6. Just One More Mile

Elenei was exceedingly weary by the time she turned back towards home. She had left home before dawn and it would take her until nightfall to return. Sometimes she’d been obliged to stay overnight at the Inn on the Kingsroad overnight and she had absolutely no intention of doing that while Ser Beric Dayne was tagging along.

 

Consequently, she rode harder than she might ordinarily and harder than she really ought when so tired. To his credit, Ser Beric was able to keep up even though he was unfamiliar with the terrain.

 

They were all but in sight of Storm’s End when it grew too dark for safe riding.

 

‘We should stop,’ he said, a little cautiously as twilight edged ever closer.

 

She hadn’t said much to him, and only ever to answer his inane, polite questions like _oh, that’s a charming little stream. Has it got a name?_

 

‘It’s fine. We can walk the horses the final mile or so.’

 

‘Mile?’

 

‘I know where I’m going and, anyway, once we’re out of the woods onto the main road it’ll be perfectly fine.

 

‘I’ll find something to light as a torch.’

 

‘You won’t find anything dry enough to take a flame.’

 

‘I shall try.’

 

Elenei waited impatiently while he ferreted around on the forest floor. There had been far too much rain of late to find any decent firewood and finally, he gave up.

 

‘Follow me.’

 

‘It’s dark! We should’ve stopped to make camp earlier-’

 

‘And then you can explain to _Lord Baratheon_ that you made his _unwed young daughter_ camp with you, and without a chaperone!’

 

‘Well! I assumed you thought we would get there before nightfall.’

 

‘I did, and I would’ve if I hadn’t been waiting for you!’

 

‘I wouldn’t call “riding away at a gallop” waiting for me.’

 

‘You were able to keep up, no?’

 

‘Yes, but… never mind, my lady. How shall we conduct this delicate matter?’

 

‘I’ll lead my horse and you can lead yours. Hold onto my horse’s tail - gently - and that way we won’t get separated. And it really is only until we’re out of the canopy.’

 

‘Very well.’

 

Elenei was right, and they were soon enough out of the woods and on the open road. The moon was waning and did not provide enough brightness to ride the rest of the way, but it was perfectly safe to walk the horses.

 

‘Do we not risk highway robbery?’

 

‘In _my father’s_ lands? Of course not! Nobody would dare.’

 

Indeed, they walked completely unmolested or unchallenged down the very last piece of the Kingsroad.

 

‘You know,’ said Elenei. ‘This road runs all the way from my home to Winterfell. Over a thousand miles separates my mother’s home and my father’s and yet a single road connects them.’

 

‘You are a poet, my lady.’

 

‘I am not a poet, but sometimes I think they must have been formed for each other quite precisely by one god or another.’

 

‘You do not follow the Seven?’

 

‘I follow no gods.’

 

‘None at all?’

 

‘None. My mother is Arya Stark and killed the Night King with a single dagger blow. That’s all the religion I need. Do I offend you?’

 

‘No. I do not… that is, I suppose, my family does not follow the Seven as others in the south might.’

 

‘Do you follow the old gods, then? Isn’t House Dayne almost as old as House Stark?'

 

‘I didn’t expect you to be an expert in my family-‘

 

‘I’m not. But I _am_ interested in great heroes of history and Arthur Dayne is one of them.’

 

A pause, then very quietly: ‘Yes, I’m told he was.’

 

‘And then my grandfather killed him,’ she finished, a rock of dread formed in her belly. ‘I didn’t mean- He was a great hero. Mama says that her father never talked about it because he didn’t think he’d done such a heroic thing. And now we know that he did it to protect my uncle Jon.’

 

‘Ser Arthur was trying to protect him too. He didn’t know Prince Rhaegar was dead.’

 

‘Mayhaps. It’s all a very long time ago and… I’m sorry my family killed yours - if that means anything.’

 

‘It does. And in any case, my father is very dear friends with your parents. It’s why he’s sent me here.’

 

‘Why did he send you here?’

 

At that moment, a loud voice from some distance away called out into the night: ‘Hie, who goes there!’

 

‘Elenei and a guest for Lord Baratheon!’

 

A still torch ahead began to move towards them and within a moment one of the guards was with them to light the final way.

 

‘Your father is waiting for you,’ he told Elenei.

 

‘Aye. I’ll deliver the rent and the guest to him. Are you well, Orys?’

 

‘Aye, milady. Cold out tonight, though.’

 

‘But crisp. No rain for a few days, I’d bet.’

 

‘I agree, milady.’

 

Such small talk occupied them all the way to the main gate and into the stables. There, the horse master took both. Elenei took the satchel of coin and shrugged it onto her shoulder.

 

‘I’ll be back to rub her down-‘

 

‘No need, my lady. It’s late and you’ve surely not eaten yet.’

 

‘True. Very well. Good night, Ed.’

 

‘Good night, my lady.’

 

Ser Beric followed Elenei into the round hall. It was late enough that only a few folks were still eating and her parents were sat talking now rather than eating.

 

Gendry noticed her immediately and a relieved grin spread across his face. ‘There she is!’

 

Elenei stormed across the room and let the heavy satchel fall hard onto the table. Several plates and cups rattled. ‘Your rent, _milord_. And your visitor.’

 

She waved a hand at Ser Beric, who had remained a few paces behind.

 

‘You must be Ned’s lad.’ Gendry’s eyes narrowed a little as he took in the sight of a slightly dusty, weary Dayne in his hall. ‘Where’d you find this one?’

 

‘I was riding past a farm where an old man was being rather rude to Lady Elenei.’

 

Gendry rolled his eyes while Arya laughed. ‘I swear that old bastard will outlive us all.’

 

‘I don’t think so,’ Elenei said. ‘He was so much frailer than before. He didn’t even call me any names.’

He frowned. ‘I’ll ride over there soon.’

 

Elenei mirrored his earlier grin. ‘He’ll hate that.’

 

‘Aye. So,’ he turned entirely to Beric now. ‘My apologies for not being ready to greet you. I was expecting you in a day or two.’

 

‘I made good time, but I did not expect to reach Storm’s End today. I have a letter from my father.’ Ser Beric pulled a folded parchment from his own satchel and handed it over to Gendry.

 

Gendry read it without a visible reaction. ‘You are very welcome to Storm’s End, Ser Beric.’

 

Arya startled at the name and he reached for her hand.

 

‘I’ll have someone show you to your room for the night and tomorrow, we’ll talk properly.’

 

‘Thank you, my lord. My father has always spoken with great respect and affection for you and Lady Arya. I am glad to meet you both at last.’

 

‘We’ve met,’ Arya said quietly. ‘But as you were a babe in your mother’s arms, I don’t suppose you remember.’

 

‘I do not, my lady,’ Beric replied with a charming, broad smile. ‘More’s the pity.’

 

*

 

‘He’s a charming little sod, isn’t he?’ Arya asked Gendry as they readied themselves to sleep.

 

‘Like his bloody father.’

 

‘You _like_ Ned Dayne. Don’t pretend you don’t just because you’ve yet to let go of the jealousy you felt twenty-five years ago. Or is it more?’

 

‘Probably more now,’ he grumbled. ‘And I do like Ned. But you must admit that they’re shiny charmers.’

 

‘Well… yes. I’d forgotten Ned named his son Beric.’

 

‘Aye.’

 

‘I shouldn’t have reacted like that. It’s just a name.’

 

‘A name that means something to you. To both of us. He was a good man, and even the harm he did to us was for a greater cause.’

 

‘And that’s why I took him off the list. And… he saved me. He died saving me.’

 

‘Aye, he did.’

 

‘Lots of people died to save me. People who I put on the list. Him, the Red Woman, Sandor Clegane…’

 

‘While I believe you when you say Clegane wasn’t as much a fucker as you used to think… I’m not sorry about her.’

 

‘No, nor am I, but… why did so many people die for me?’

 

‘They didn’t die for you, love. I’d have died for you if I needed to. They died for the cause. Don’t keep their names on another list in your head.’

 

‘No…’

 

‘I don’t care if you never obey me ever again, wife, but you’ll obey me in this.’

 

‘I have never, _ever_ obeyed you, Gendry Baratheon. And I won’t.’ She paused. ‘Sometimes I do things that happen to be what you wanted me to do.’

 

His loud, hearty laugh rang around the room in the stillness of night. ‘Don’t I know it?’

 

‘What was in the letter from Ned?’

 

Gendry sighed and, now ready to sleep, stretched himself out on the bed. She tucked herself into the crook of his shoulder and he shivered as her cold hands touched his skin. ‘He wants two things.’

 

‘And they are?’

 

‘He wants us to knock the cockiness out of him.’

 

‘Easy. Next?’

 

‘To quietly consider if Beric is a match for Elenei.’

 

‘Oh.’

 

‘Aye. But you know I won’t do or say a thing unless she wants it. I swear that to you both.’

 

‘You want to say more. I can feel it.’

 

‘But I wonder… we wanted someone who is an equal match for Len. Could he be that match?’

 

’So, you’ll hold twenty-five-years of pointless jealousy against Ned Dayne but you’re happy to consider his son for your only child? You don’t make sense, bull.’

 

‘Well…’ Gendry turned to pull her close to him. ‘That was long ago when I was very young, and there is a great difference between my feelings towards my wife and my daughter.’

 

‘There’d better be,’ she mumbled, lips grazing against his skin. ‘But why are you considering this when you never have before?’

 

‘Because Ned Dayne is a truly good man and I am at least willing to give his son a chance. Because Elenei deserves a chance to find someone worthy of her and of all the men in all the kingdoms and lands of the world, he has at least a chance of being so. All I am doing is giving him a room for a while and if they become friends I will be happy. If they show any other inclination… that’s a matter for them.’

 

‘If any man raised his son to believe women capable of more than birthing babies and sewing shirts… it would be Dayne.’

 

‘That’s what I hope. And if he doesn’t…’

 

‘Len will beat his arse into the dirt.’

 

‘Exactly. Just as you would for me. I have no expectations, I give you my word.’

 

‘I know… but perhaps we’ll not rush to share this with Elenei?’

 

‘I would hope not, for Ned hasn’t told Beric.’

 

Arya froze at the mention of that name again. ’I feel we need to give both Daynes other names. They… those are names of other men.’

 

‘That they are, love. But the name is not what made them the men we remember, and the name does not demand more of the living than they are their own selves.’

 

‘Mayhaps. It is… I don’t like things that remind me…’ Arya pulled away and buried her face into her pillow, hiding the truth of her emotions as best she could, even from her dearest love.

 

‘I know, my love.’ Gendry reached out to stroke her hair for a moment. Her eyes fluttered shut. ‘You’re at home in Storm’s End. Your family is safe. You’re safe. The ghosts can’t get to you here and if they can, they’ll have to go through me first.’

 

Arya mumbled something he couldn’t quite hear through layers of blankets and sheets.

 

‘Yes,’ he said with a light chuckle. ‘I love you too. Sleep. Whatever’s to come will wait a night.’

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully, this one won't be long - I have got stuff to do!
> 
> I'm not generally a huge fan of 'children of' stories, because I think we all have such specific ideas in our heads and they don't always translate to others. 
> 
> That said, this was kicked off by a thought about how Baratheon looks are so often dominant - although perhaps not against Starkery - and what that might mean for a young woman in a world where being big and strong is only valued if you're a dude...
> 
> and how self-image issues might run in her family.
> 
> And let's be honest: do we really think that the way S8 ended is a great foundation for lasting peace?


End file.
